


Love Before Destiny

by Sparcina



Series: Iron Webs to Covet [4]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Bittersweet, Comfort, Drama, Fix-It of Sorts, Hopeful Ending, Infinity War, Infinity War - Canon divergent?, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, Peter Needs a Hug, Sexual Content, Tony Needs a Hug, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, selfless tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 05:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: That night, Tony and Peter both dream of the future.“God, you're warm,” Peter whimpered. “I’m so happy.”Tony could sense the kid's twitching cock through the thin cotton of his pajama pants. His head was spinning, and his heart had resumed its frantic beating, but he couldn’t stop his hands from mapping Peter’s shoulders and back. Couldn’t stop the urge to lay him down in his bed, in his scent, and kiss his claim on every inch of bared skin. But it was Peter who framed his face and kissed him, Peter who nipped his bottom lip and shoved his tongue in his mouth, shuddering violently as Tony wrapped his lips around the tip and sucked.It’d been a while since Tony had kissed someone so messily, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling so content with so little.





	Love Before Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> I had to. Also, Spideriron is _so_ canon; just look at [this picture](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e6/2e/97/e62e9781ff64a50e98174c4a455ab687.jpg)!

When Peter went to bed that night, he dreamt of Thanos.

*

When Tony went to bed that night, he was exhausted, worried, and not a little exasperated.

The kid just wouldn’t _stop_.

Tony was no stranger to seduction, and Peter’s attempts to interest him into another kind of relationship were painfully obvious, and just as easy to ignore… or so Tony had thought at first. He’d told himself that with Pepper gone, Rogers and his band of merry traitors on the run and the fate of Earth in his hands, he would be too frantic with worry to bother with something as trivial as desire. Every once in a while, he jerked off in the bathroom or his workshop, and it was more than enough.

Or so he’d thought, again. The kid was more desirable to a forty-five-year-old than any youth ought to be. Tony had turned a blind eye to it at first, the lithe frame and sculpted arms and thighs, the graceful gait, the beautiful lines of the kid’s face, the way his eyes shone oh so brightly when his _mentor_ turned his full focus on him, and licked his lips when he thought Tony wasn’t looking, or more probably when he thought he _was_ looking. He’d pretended it was just another glitch in his brain, and that work would make it go away.

His hopes, it turned out, had been in vain. The more time he spent with the kid, the more time he wanted him at his side. When he’d offered him a set of rooms at the compound _on his floor_ , he’d told him it was to better watch him, and some days, he could even believe it himself.

The truth made him feel old and weak, and not at all like the reliable man who was needed to ensure Earth’s defense.

“Let’s call it a night, girl.”

“Should I let the current simulation running?” Friday asked.

Tony rubbed his eyes. “Might as well.”

“You should sleep, boss, or you will fight with Strange tomorrow. Again.”

“I can’t help it if the man’s so full of himself.”

Wisely, Friday didn’t point out that Tony, too, was very good at being full of himself. She was smart, his girl. Not as smart as Peter, but-

Tony kicked into a box of tools. He’d anticipated the pain, but it still hurt. Better the pain than the desire, he supposed. Peter deserved better than him, better than what he _thought_ he needed.

And if Tony didn’t get to claim what _he_ thought he needed, well, that was because there was still hope for redemption for Tony Stark, former playboy and billionaire (defending a whole planet wasn’t cheap, as opposed to its numerous governing instances), and current white king to Thanos’ black king.

Friday interrupted his thoughts.

“I have Strange on the line. Should I patch him through?”

“Is it a death or life situation?” he grumbled.

He was lying in his bed, completely naked, as was his habit. The kid would be disappointed not to get a glimpse of him before going to his room, but there was no way Tony was letting himself within thirty feet of him when he was so tired, and his own defenses (his reason, his resolution) at their lowest. The kid might bite his lip, say something too smart for an eighteen-year-old, and Tony would feel that heat again, the fucking _need_ to kneel and make Peter come undone with his mouth and fingers. Peter really was beautiful, and Tony would bet half of what was left in his ever-decreasing bank account that the kid looked even more stunning in the throes of passionate lovemaking.

“He merely wishes to know if he can meet with you and Peter tomorrow,” Friday informed him.

Tony chased the taste of guilt with the rest of the scotch in the tumbler by his bedside. He could be half of an alcoholic if he wanted to; this was the end of the world, after all, or so Strange claimed.

“Sure, but after four. And only if he admits he’s having a sexual relationship with that cape of his.”

“Strange agrees to three pm, and wants me to tell you that sex shouldn’t be on your mind under the current circumstances.”

Tony drank straight at the bottle this time. The guilt didn’t linger too much. He thought back to his first meeting with Strange. How the man had claimed ‘magic’ was a thing, and that Tony had better listen to him before it was too late, whatever that meant for someone who could travel in time with a magic eye around his neck.

Except that Thanos was real, and could bend time if he had his way.

Tony turned on his side, both fists pressed to his chest. Strange had promised that he and Peter would dream of the Mad Titan eventually. Tony really wished Strange was wrong, but his guts told him that magic or not, pathetic attempt at imitating his goatee or not, the sorcerer was right. The anticipation was maddening.

And so had been Peter’s sure ‘no’ when Strange had asked if he was Tony’s ward.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Peter? Tony would hate himself if most of his hate wasn’t focused on the asshole coming to plunder his home planet. He’d never been into young men fresh out of  their teens, except when he’d been a teen himself. Before getting to know Peter, he would not even have been able to imagine it, and god knew he had a great deal of imagination.

But Peter was as headstrong as they made it, and possibly the prettiest mind Tony had ever seen beside his own. The potential of their connection grew with every moment they spent together.

Nothing could ever come out of it. The kid had a crush on him. _He_ had a crush on the kid. Tony had gotten thrown in worst situations before and found a way out.

Those feelings would go away. It would all work out.

When Tony fell asleep, he dreamt of Thanos.

*

He dreamt of Thanos setting fire to world after world, seeking the infinity stones he would need to turn the reality into a realm fitting his sordid ambitions. Thanos killed everyone and everything in his path, Pepper, Rhodey, and every last member of Capsicle’s team…

He killed Peter, too. The kid was on his feet when he died, his eyes pleading, and his arms around Tony’s neck. Holding on to him.

Pleading.

Turning to dust.

In the dream, Tony screamed as his hands closed on emptiness. His knees hit the ground. Thanos could have killed him then, easily, but the Mad Titan vanished, and Tony was left sobbing his heart out.

Guilt.

Regret.

 _Love_.

*

Tony jerked upwards, hand instinctively closing on the mechanism of the nanotech suit over the patchwork of scars where the arc reactor used to be. Mere seconds after his brain gave meaning to the wetness on his cheeks and relief choked him, the door burst open.

“Tony.”

His name sounded wet and rough in the kid’s mouth, nothing like the seductive whisper that was Peter’s usual way of addressing him. Even in the semi-darkness, Tony could see the tremors coursing through his lithe frame. The kid was afraid, and crying, but he was _alive._

Tony’s relief was so potent he let out an actual moan, kicking back the sheets and forgetting his own nakedness as he made to stand and hug the kid within an inch of his life.

 _He was alive_. And Tony…

Guilt.

Regret.

 _Love_.

How unfair was it, that they had so little time?

How unfair was it, that they could never be together because of their age difference, the unbalance of power, and Tony’s baggage?

“I dreamt of you,” Peter said in a hoarse voice, taking a step towards him, eyes wild and hands balling into fists.

There was no doubt in Tony’s mind as to the nature of that dream.

“You died,” Peter went on. His feet and chest were bare, and so was the fear in his eyes. “It felt so… real. I thought I lost you”

“Kid-”

Peter’s knees hit the foot of the bed. Tony caught him, still only half-aware of his nakedness, his whole focus on making sure the kid was all right, was here, breathing, safe.

“Here,” he mumbled, rubbing circles into Peter’s shoulders. “I’m all right. You are, too.”

“The war-”

“Is not there yet. We still have time.”

_Weeks, perhaps days._

Tony bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He’d always been a very touchy person, but the way he cradled Peter into his arms and pressed him to his chest, almost wrapping himself around his half-naked shivering body, made him realize he’d been touch-starved, and that Peter was the panacea he hadn’t even known he’d been looking for during all that time.

Forbidden. Perfect.

The skin of his shoulder felt wet from Peter’s tears. Tony breathed in the kid’s scent. It filled his lungs, so much better than oxygen. “I had a similar one,” he said, blinking back tears of his own. “Except for the outcome, ’was pretty much the same.”

“I don’t want you to die, Tony.” Peter was not crying anymore; rather, he was rubbing his face in the crook of his neck, mirroring Tony's own attempt at flooding his senses with the other. “And I know you’re tired, and busy, and I can’t help as much as I-”

“You’re perfect, kid.”

“Then why won’t you let me love you like you deserve?”

Tony’s breath caught. Peter began to pepper his neck with kisses, light and wet, needy, and Tony was helpless to fight the rush of want going straight to his groin. A lapful of Peter was the very last thing he’d expected when he’d gone to bed last night, but he needed it, desperately. Would he have been able to resist if the nightmare hadn’t torn down his last defenses?

Had Strange known it would happen? Was it why he kept looking at him like he belonged in an asylum? The age difference sure was staggering.   

“God, you're warm,” Peter whimpered. “I’m so happy.”

Tony could sense the kid's twitching cock through the thin cotton of his pajama pants. His head was spinning, and his heart had resumed its frantic beating, but he couldn’t stop his hands from mapping Peter’s shoulders and back. Couldn’t stop the urge to lay him down in his bed, in his scent, and kiss his claim on every inch of bared skin. But it was Peter who framed his face and kissed him, Peter who nipped his bottom lip and shoved his tongue in his mouth, shuddering violently as Tony wrapped his lips around the tip and sucked.

It’d been a while since Tony had kissed someone so messily, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling so content with so little.

Peter, of course, wasn’t done. He arched into Tony, using his superior strength to lock his heels at the small of Tony’s back and rubbing their erections together. He looked every bit as desperate as Tony felt.

So willing. Trusting.

“I want you.”

“I know.” Tony mouthed at his shoulder, then bit down. Peter’s whine was music to his ears. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for being s-so good to me.”

Tony groaned. The way the kid undulated his hips made it very, very hard for him to think of anything beside fucking him into utter bliss. “You’re the one who’s too good for me.”

“I know you.” Peter’s fingers dug into his shoulders. There would be bruises tomorrow, but Tony didn’t care. If Peter was his, he was Peter’s, and if he went to hell for that… Well, he would make sure to drag Thanos along for the ride.

“I know you,” Peter repeated, racking his nails down Tony’s back, “and I want to make you feel as good and safe as you make me feel by being _you_.”

Their next kiss was just as messy and urgent. Tony let Peter take the lead for a while, happy to oblige him. It was wrong, and it was the happiest Tony had ever felt.

When he slid down Peter's body and took his cock into his mouth, he didn’t tease him at all. He sucked him fast and hard, wanting that sadness gone from those lovely eyes. The kid screamed his name as he came down his throat.

“In me,” Peter whispered, pupils blown, hands on Tony’s wrists. “Will you come inside me?”

Tony spent both too much and too little time preparing him. The need burnt fiercely in his chest, and every time the guilt threatened to darken his happiness into another layer of regrets, Peter’s voice filled the silence, soft ‘please’, ‘yes’ and ‘so good’ that made Tony all the more eager to bury himself in that delightful heat and forget all about war and not-so-wise decisions.

Peter rode him. Their lovemaking was slow and unhurried, so different from their kisses. They never looked away from each other. Peter was holding his hands as if he never meant to let go, and Tony suspected there would be bruises there as well. He let the kid have it all, let him set the pace of his own attempt at reassurance. And if tears fell down his cheeks once more, they highlighted a bright smile that spoke of hope.

Tony knew no god beyond those of chaos and lightning, but he prayed to whatever benevolent entity may still be watching over mankind that they spare the young man whispering his love, conveying it through every little moan, every trembling caress, as Tony poured his own into the young, sweaty, mortal body dancing above his own.

“I love you.” He choked the words out as he reached his climax, emptying himself into Peter mere seconds after the kid had painted his chest white. White was so pure a color, and he was the white king in this game of intergalactic chess, but only in comparison to Thanos; in this room, in the present that he wanted crystallized into eternity, he was the grey of sins.

He didn't mind so much as he'd expected. “I love you,” he said again, kissing Peter’s trembling mouth. Those words used to be so strange to _think_ , but tonight they fell from his lips, true and strong. If Thanos really could send to their deaths half the population of every sentient species, he prayed again, let it be those who’d lived long years already, who’d made their mistakes and learned from them. Those like him, who had walked the paths for decades. Peter was both too young and too loving to die, and Tony didn’t want a future such as the one he’d witnessed.

He was still the Merchant of Death, it seemed. A weapon weaving weapons for humanity’s sake, but also for love’s.

Humming happily, Peter pulled the sheets to their chins and buried his face into the crook of Tony’s neck.

“When someone next asks me what I am to you, I shall say you’re the man I love.”

Tony held him closer. “And I shall make sure you live long enough so that I can say the same.”

When they kissed next, Tony could swear time had stopped, as if destiny itself had to bow to love in time of war. 


End file.
